Channel 3
by vaccinator-medic
Summary: Sometimes, all it takes is a TV show to bring two people together. Pyro/Scout
1. Chapter 1

It had been a very long battle that day. It had also been a long week, full of long battles that should've ended quick, but instead had dragged on. It was a recurrent theme whenever they were attempting to grab enemy intelligence. Scout would run across the bridge into the base, manage to hop through the grate to avoid the BLU Engineer, race into the hallway, grab the intelligence, run back up the spiral staircase, only to meet the entire BLU team aiming their weapons directly at him. Every. Single. Time. The same would happen to the BLU Scout. Teufort really sucked like that.

The battle ended at about 20:00.

Scout was too darned tired to do anything other than chuck off his shoes, hat, and ear muffs, and plop himself face first into the bed in his small room. It was only about 20:30. His body felt tired. He felt like he'd been put through the highest settings in a washing machine. His limbs could've doubled for cooked spaghetti noodles. And yet, despite that, his brain was still going 50 miles a second.

He turned onto his side. Then, he turned onto his back. Then he turned onto his stomach again. Then, he turned on his left side, just to change it up a little. He looked up and checked the clock to find that only 10 minutes had passed. He just couldn't sleep. It was ridiculous. Someone should've found a way to fix this kind of crap by now. He stared into space, eyes resting on the red numbers of his digital alarm clock, considering if he should wake the doc up to give him something. In the end, he decided against it. Medic had looked completely beat, and had gone to bed as soon as they'd gotten back to their living area, not even stopping to eat dinner.

Scout really didn't want to have a very cranky, angry Medic to deal with.

So, he could either lay there in bed, getting progressively more irritated as he failed to fall asleep, or he could go watch something on TV. He mentally grumbled to himself for a few minutes before hauling his tired body out of bed.

The base was practically dead quiet. Just about everyone was tired enough to head off to their respective sleeping areas. The only sounds were humming from some of the lights that had been left on.

The living room was hardly a living room at all. It was incredibly small, much like their bedrooms. It only had one door entering, as if it had once been an office. They could just barely all cram into the room, though it was a rare occurrence. The only time he could recount them ever all being in the living room together, instead of the kitchen or some other area, was because of a particularly important news update that had aired on the small, still black and white TV.

Regardless, it was the perfect size for one person. He opened the door to the room, and was ready to throw himself onto the beat up, old sofa, when he saw that the TV was already on. The room was empty. The only thing playing on the screen was a commercial for a car. He could already hear the Administrator now, calling them to yell at them for the unnecessary power usage from leaving the TV on.

Scout shut the door behind him, half threw himself onto the sofa, and grabbed the remote. He was about to start flipping through channels when the living room door opened. His peripheral vision only saw some sort of blob. He yelled, and threw the remote as hard as he could at the figure in the doorway.

The remote smacked Pyro right in the chest. The terrifying blob was apparently just Pyro dressed in a pastel blue onesie that had little rainbows all over it, as well as a pair of pink, knitted gloves. Their mask was still intact as it always was.

For a second, the two just stared at one another. Scout was both embarrassed and terrified at the same time. He wondered if he was going to go through respawn, or if he was going to have to wake the doc up and explain why he had third degree burns.

Like all seconds, though, this one passed as well. Pyro merely picked the remote up and plopped down on the couch beside Scout, who scooted over a bit to put some space between them.

He was about to make some sort of comment, an apology maybe, when a show began to play.

"Space. The Final Frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. It's five year mission to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life, and new civilizations. To boldly go where no man has gone before."

Scout groaned. "This is that nerd show right? Star Trek?"

Pyro immediately turned their head to look at him, empty, plastic-covered gas mask eyes staring into Scout's own. They were clearly annoyed at the remark.

"Alright alright, I'll watch it," Scout grumbled, flopping back.

Pyro, satisfied, returned to staring at the screen.

Well, at least a boring nerd show would help him get to sleep quicker. Or, so he thought.

It started out boring enough. A bunch of guys in shirts of lighter and darker shades of gray were sitting in what appeared to be some kind of control room.

"Is that the captain?" Scout asked, pointing at a guy in a lighter gray shirt sitting on a chair in the center of the room.

Pyro nodded while making an "uh huh" sound through their mask. They then pointed at two other guys who were talking to the captain while signing something with their hands.

"Sorry man, I don't know any of that ASL stuff," Scout said, apologetically. He made a mental note to finally get around to letting Engineer start teaching him. The entire team had slowly been learning so they could communicate with Pyro, but he kept finding reasons to get out of it. He'd spent too much time in classrooms, idly fidgeting and cracking jokes, to do it again. Clearly, though, learning ASL was going to be a must.

Pyro made a sad sort of noise before waving their hand, as if to say, "it doesn't matter."

The three guys kept talking. A close-up soon revealed one of the guy's pointed ears.

"Oh man, that guy's an alien," Scout remarked. "I bet he's got all kinds of alien powers."

The show continued with Scout making little comments here and there, which were either confirmed with a nod, denied with a head shake, or hmmed at by Pyro. Sure, the show started out a little slow at first, but the next thing Scout knew, the starship was in danger. Then, the captain was jumping all over the place, using fighting moves on the bad guys that would never work in real life.

"Look at him go!" Scout commented, as the captain did a bizarre running jump off a wall in order to kick one of the bad guys.

Pyro was getting excited too. They clapped their hands a bit and nodded repetitively, occasionally pointing at the screen and signing with their hands.

The captain and his two buddies had just destroyed a super computer when the action stopped. The captain began to speak. "We're human beings with the blood of a million savage years on our hands! But we can stop it. We can admit that we're killers… but we're not going to kill today. That's all it takes! Knowing that we're not going to kill- today!"

What the captain said turned around in his mind. He hadn't realized how… absorbed he'd been in thought until Pyro tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, head tilted as if asking a question. The episode had ended, with another boring car commercial taking its place.

"That's a weird show man. Does it come on same time next week?" he asked. There was something just a little special about it. He had to see another episode.

Pyro clapped their hands, delighted at Scout's interest, and nodded vigorously.

"I guess I'll uh, come watch it then," he replied. He got up off the sofa, intending to head to bed. "G'night, Pyro," he said as he headed out the living room door. Pyro waved back, but made no move to leave the room.

When Scout got back to his room, he figured that he may as well put his jammies on since he was up. His jammies were basically just a white t-shirt with a few holes in it and a pair of boxers. He got dressed. He then perched on the edge of his bed, thinking a bit.

He killed today. He'd have to kill tomorrow. It was his job. People without his job were going kill the next day too. And the next. He'd been told it had always been that way, and that it always would be.

He laid down on his stomach again, shutting his eyes. Maybe, though, just maybe, it wouldn't be that way one day. Maybe, one day, they'd decide they weren't going to kill. They'd decide it every day.

He fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"Engie?"

Engineer looked up from the bunch of papers he'd been scribbling on. He often spent long hours shut away in his workshop (if you could call the absolutely tiny and abysmal garage in Teufort a workshop) drawing up designs for new machines he was concocting. Today being an off day was the perfect opportunity for him to spend some time working on his contraptions.

"What'cha want, boy?" Engineer asked, looking at Scout, who was hanging around in the doorway. He softened a bit when he saw that Scout was kicking pretend rocks around with his feet. "I mean, what do you need?"

"How'd you learn that ASL stuff?" Scout asked. Maybe the process wouldn't take too long. Maybe it wasn't that hard.

Engineer waved his always as ever gloved hand. "I just learned it is all. Went to the library and got books on it and stuff. I just figured I'd learn it," he replied, looking back down at his sketches. He corrected a few bits here and there. "You finally gonna come around and learn it like the rest of us?"

Scout nodded, realized Engineer couldn't see him, and then said, "Yeah. I was hanging around Pyro and I couldn't understand 'em at all."

"It's about time," Engineer said. He expected Scout to head out then and come around the next time they all had group practice with it. He looked back up when he still heard Scout scuffling around kicking pretend rocks. "What's the matter?"

"Aw man, I just hate classes, y'know? I'm too lazy for that shit."

"Too lazy, or another reason?" Engineer asked thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his pencil.

"I dunno. Everyone told me I was just lazy or not trying hard enough."

Engineer hmmed, and went back to looking at his papers. "Come around tonight and we'll see," he remarked.

"Uhh, alright," Scout replied. He left with fidgety hands, not looking forward to the inevitable yelling at he was going to get that night.

That night after dinner, Scout headed to the biggest area in the base: the storeroom. It had probably once held farm equipment or something. It had been repurposed into a meeting room of sorts. Unfortunately, it was not air-conditioned, so they had to rely on several large fans that had been haphazardly placed everywhere.

Scout felt the oppressive heat hit him as soon as he walked in. For whatever reason, the humidity felt worse in here than it did anywhere else. He briefly recalled his elderly neighbor waving some pamphlet in front of her face, while commenting, 'It's not the heat; it's the humidity.'

A row of blue chairs were arranged in a circle off towards the far left corner. Or right corner. Scout made Ls with his fingers. Yep, it was the left corner. Pyro, Heavy, and Medic were already there.

Scout felt a little nervous and irritable as he approached. The chairs were reminiscent of the ones he had sat in at school. He could practically hear Engineer yelling at him for causing a ruckus already. If he even SAW something resembling a ruler, he was going get out of there.

Medic and Heavy were chatting. Pyro was holding a lighter, watching the flame dance in the wind currents created from the fans placed about. Pyro suddenly glanced up. They waved at Scout happily, patting the chair next to them. Scout took a seat, though a little reluctantly.

Heavy gave him a stern nod. Pyro patted his shoulder and waved their hands a bit, before relighting the lighter and returning to staring at it. "Hey guys," Scout said with a small wave.

"Hello, Scout. You have decided to join us," Medic said, squinting in his general direction.

"Uh, yeah. Doc, where's your glasses?" Scout replied, a little surprised. He rarely saw Medic without them.

"I left them in my infirmary. They just get fog on them in here," he replied, frowning, trying to wipe some sweat off his forehead unsuccessfully.

"Here, doctor," Heavy said quietly, putting a handkerchief into Medic's hand.

"Ah. Thank you," Medic replied, before using it to mop sweat off his face.

"Oh man, you Europeans can't take the heat, huh?" Scout said, snickering a bit. "This heat ain't NOTHING."

Heavy hmmed. "Little Scout was not saying that when he went to doctor for overheat."

Medic snorted. "Yah. You had only just gone outside, also."

"Aw come on! That was ONE time!" Scout shot back, crossing his arms and pouting a bit. "Sometimes I just forget to drink water is all!"

The forming argument was interrupted by Demoman entering the room. He sidled up to them and asked, "What's all the arguing about?"

"Scout thinks Europeans cannot handle heat," Medic replied, once more mopping his face with the handkerchief.

Demoman plopped down right next to Scout. He half placed half slapped his hand down on Scout's shoulder, shaking him a bit. "I bet you'd turn into a Scoutsicle out in the snow."

"Naw, it got cold where I lived! I can handle it! I can handle any weather!" Scout replied, giving Demoman a playful slap on the hand.

"Ach. 40 degrees is not an acceptable temperature!" Medic exclaimed, Heavy nodding in agreement.

"What's that? Celsius? What the hell is that in English?" Scout asked.

Demoman looked out into space for a moment, tracing numbers through the air with his pointer finger. "That's about 104 degrees Fahrenheit." Demoman thought again for a moment, before nodding confidently. "Yes it is."

Pyro had stopped playing with the lighter, and was now watching the discussion as if it were a hockey match, with their head darting to look at whoever was talking at the time. They quickly signed something. Heavy and Medic nodded in agreement, while Demoman shrugged.

"What'd they say?" Scout asked.

"Pyro says Celsius is better than Fahrenheit," Heavy said. "Is true."

Luckily, before that could get started, Soldier entered the room. They all shut up about that particular argument immediately.

Soldier sat next to Demoman. "Scout is here!" he exclaimed, pointing at Scout for good measure.

Scout still had no idea how Soldier could SEE, let alone identify anyone, with a helmet covering his eyes most of the time. "You don't gotta be so loud, man," Scout responded. "We got a real Captain Obvious over here."

Just about everyone cringed at that. Soldier had a notoriously short fuse. And Scout was notoriously good at getting into yelling matches with him.

Soldier leapt out of his chair and jabbed his finger in Scout's direction. "I will not tolerate rudeness in this learning session!" he yelled, skipping medium loud and heading straight to loud loud.

Scout stood up and was about do some pointing and yelling of his own. "You can't-"

"Now y'all need to quiet down RIGHT NOW."

Everyone turned to see Engineer looking mighty cross. The usually even-tempered man was glaring at Scout and Soldier while pushing his goggles up with one hand, just to get the point across.

Soldier surprisingly sat down without further comment.

"Fine," Scout said, sitting down, still glaring at Soldier. This was going to suck. He could already practically feel his brain trying to climb out the back of his head, trying to find something better to do.

Engineer pushed his goggles down, sat, and looked around. "Where's Sniper?"

"He had a migraine. I gave him something to make him sleep," Medic replied.

Engineer nodded. "And I'm sure Spy is slinking around somewhere. Ain't come around once," he said, sighing disapprovingly.

"He's such a know-it-all that he probably already knows the language anyways," Scout said, dismissively.

"Alright," Engineer began, "Since Scout's just joined us, we're gonna go over the alphabet again."

Engineer proceeded to demonstrate how to sign the alphabet. He went through each letter individually, demonstrating the proper way to sign it, and then watching the others try it themselves. Of course, everyone but Scout seemed to have already gotten the hang of it.

It was embarrassing, and worst of all, he was finding it harder and harder to stay focused. He just felt so damn bored. He didn't want to be there fumbling around, looking stupid, and being bored as hell. How the hell was he messing up signing simple LETTERS?

Engineer had just corrected him for the 9th time for accidentally signing the letter J by going up from the bottom instead of down from the top when Scout absolutely couldn't stand it anymore. It was so fucking easy! It was just the letter J! It was one goddamn movement with one goddamn hand!

"This sucks!" Scout exclaimed, loudly enough to get the attention of just about everyone. He threw his hands down, ignoring the slight sting on his legs that it caused. "This is so fucking hard!" he said while swinging his legs pretty harshly.

"Aw, now take it easy. You just got to keep trying is all," Demoman replied, trying to keep the mood light.

Great. Now he was disrupting everyone. He just couldn't keep his mouth shut huh?

"You need to simmer down or you'll get frustrated and won't be able to do it," Engineer said, demonstrating the proper way to sign J again.

Scout didn't even bother trying. He got out of his chair. Settle down? This was embarrassing! Everyone in the group was looking at him because he was too stupid to keep his mouth shut and sign the letter J right. "Maybe if we had an actual teacher and not some hick engineer teaching us, it would be easier!" Scout said, crossing his arms while his face scrunched up into a scowl.

He immediately heard several sighs and even caught a glance of Heavy shaking his head out the corner of his eyes. Did he really just say that? He was fucking this all up and he should just leave.

"Now, look here. I've been using ASL for a long time now-" Engineer tried to say, before being interrupted.

Soldier decided now was the perfect time to cast his opinion into the mix. "You should treat someone trying to teach you with more respect!" he borderline yelled.

This exclamation was also met with sighs. Pyro shook their head and hands pretty hard, Medic sighed and placed his head in his hands, Demoman put his hands out in a consolatory gesture, and the rest gave up on having any sort of constructive learning environment for the rest of the night because the room was about to become a live battleground of yelling and possibly fist-fighting. It was as if the Administrator had announced the beginning of a fight right then and there.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" Scout yelled in Soldier's general direction, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm a fucking adult, you can't tell me shit!"

Soldier rose from his chair, and the two were soon face to face yelling, with Scout shouting obscenities of various vulgarity levels.

"I WOULDN'T EVEN BE LEARNING THIS SHIT IF PYRO COULD JUST TALK TO US LIKE A NORMAL PERSON," Scout screamed.

Heavy stood up immediately, placing himself between the two arguers. "Is enough. You both say mean things. Go and be calm."

Scout knew he'd basically fucked himself. He wanted to punch Heavy as hard as he could. Punch Soldier too while he was at it. Smack him right upside the head with that dumbass helmet he was always wearing. Hell, he was just about to jump around Heavy and go for it when he realized that Engineer had taken Soldier by the arm and was leading him away. That, and Heavy was giving him a look that suggested he wouldn't let Scout fight without grabbing him up and taking him away himself.

So, he did the next best thing. He ran away. He left the storeroom and went right out the back door of their base. He wasn't running anywhere in particular. Just running.

He was so stupid. He'd thrown a temper tantrum in front of just about everyone. Pyro had been nice enough let him sit next to them and had even tried to help him a few times, and he'd gone and insulted them for no reason. Why couldn't he shut his mouth? What the hell was wrong with him? He was so fucking stupid.

It was pretty hot out. He soon tired out and sat on a large, red rock that was out in the dusty, destroyed prairie. It was up on a hill. He'd run pretty far. The base was visible but pretty small and far away. He couldn't think of what to do, other than cross his arms, slouch over, and pout on the rock.

Unfortunately, the rock had been out in the sun for quite a long time. He sprang off of it, wincing. "Fucking- fucking rock! I can't even fucking sit on a goddamn rock! Burnt my fucking ass! My GODDAMN-" Scout didn't even finish his sentence, opting to start yelling and screaming.

He flung his arms around, kicking up dust everywhere. He delivered a swift, hard kick to the rock, and thought he felt something in his foot crack. He ignored it and continued to assault the rock, yelling and screaming obscenities, as if it had personally insulted his mother and had attempted to murder his family.

He kicked that rock for a good 10 minutes. The harsh, hot sun was beginning to set by the time he felt he'd kicked the rock a sufficient amount of times. He lifted his foot, intending to kick it good one last time, but set it down as he realized that, not only did he feel pretty tired, sweaty, and hot, but that his foot was killing him.

It wasn't just killing him. It felt like a 2 ton weight had fallen on it. Or maybe that a nuclear warhead had exploded on it. Whichever one was more painful. He plopped down in the dirt, kicking up more dust. He ripped his shoe and sock off without much thought, internally swearing as it caused pain to shoot up his leg.

Upon examination of his foot, he determined that it was pretty messed up. How hard had he been kicking that rock? It hadn't hurt while he was kicking it at all!

His toes and the upper part of his foot had been reduced to a purple, bent up mass. Oh man. It looked so bad. It hurt like the devil, too. He probably couldn't even get his foot back in the shoe, considering that it was starting to swell up pretty bad.

"Shit," he said.

He was going to have to walk back to base with his disgusting, destroyed foot, without a shoe, and in severe pain. And he was probably dehydrated too. His last meal had been forever ago. If only he could remember to fucking eat.

With some difficulty, he managed to pull his sock on. Then, he set his hand on the rock, trying to use it to pull himself up. He snatched his hand away. It was still boiling hot. Probably could cook an egg on it.

He tried again, forcing himself to keep his hand on the rock as he pulled himself up. At least it didn't hurt as bad as his fucked up foot.

Finally, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, he got himself up and standing. Out of instinct, he placed his destroyed left foot onto the ground. Somehow, it managed to hurt worse than it already did. He bit his lip as his eyes teared up a bit, and retrieved his foot from off the sandy ground. He sniffed, hard, and began the agonizing trip back to the base.

The gait he was forced to take was extremely awkward and slow. He swore he was going to pass out every time he briefly let his left foot touch the ground. It was going to be a windy night. The wind whipped around, disturbing the dusty ground and sending sand particles into his eyes.

At one point, he tried hopping home on one leg, but stopped after he almost lost his balance. He was not about to have to try and get up after falling.

He was about half of the way there when the last of the light drained from the sky. It was a full moon that night, giving him a decent amount of light. Maybe, if his foot wasn't actively exploding, he would've enjoyed the clear sky full of stars.

When he finally made it to the base, he decided to enter through the storeroom door. People were rarely in there, and the chances of someone being in there at this time of night were even rarer. The battles had been starting quite early. Some of the mercenaries were even in bed before the sunset, trying to make up for lost sleep from the previous week.

Medic was one of those people. He wasn't looking forward to waking him up. Of course, he could wait until the morning, but the thought of going even 10 more minutes with his foot still fucked up practically made him cry on the spot.

The storeroom hadn't been maintained, much like the rest of the base, in a good while. It squealed, hinges loudly protesting, as he swung it open. He winced at the noise, hoping no one heard it. At least he could use the shelves for support instead of putting weight on his foot. He threw his shoe down. He'd have time to retrieve it tomorrow.

He stopped for a moment before opening the door to the rest of the base. He was going to have to gamble on where Medic was sleeping tonight. Sometimes, he slept in his infirmary on the waiting room couch. Other times, he'd actually be asleep in bed in his room.

His face scrunched up in thought. In the end, though it was further away, he decided to go to the infirmary. That way, if he passed out, Medic wouldn't have to drag him very far to get his stupid foot fixed up.

The base was lifeless and dark, just as he hoped it would be. Everyone had retreated for the day to sleep and recuperate from the hectic week. He managed to catch the time as he passed through the kitchen. He spent more time than he would've liked staring at the microwave's glow-in-the-dark analog clock. He gave up on calculating the minutes and settled for it being 10 something PM.

Finally, he was at the infirmary door. He tried the knob. It was locked. Oh god. Would Medic lock it if he was sleeping in there? Maybe? He didn't know. Maybe he really was going to pass out. He knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again, a little more desperately. Still no answer. His face scrunched up, and he tried to suppress the tears trying to leak out of his eyes. In one final effort, he pounded on the door, not giving a damn if he woke up anyone else in the base.

He stopped for a moment, and was about to try again, when the doorknob clicked. The door swung open, revealing a disgruntled and tired Medic, still dressed in his day clothes.

"What in the WORLD could you possibly want, Scout?" Medic asked, clearly irritated at being woken.

All Scout could do was point at his foot and say, "My foot."

Any doctor with half a brain could recognize the look of genuine pain that alighted Scout's face. Medic's face softened a bit. "Come in," he finally said, letting Scout in and closing the door behind him. He immediately noticed the severe limp Scout had alongside the fact he wasn't anything other than a sock on his left foot. Even more worrying, Scout wasn't even complaining about it.

Medic rushed to Scout's side, grabbing his arm so he wouldn't have to put his weight on his foot anymore. He led him to one of the rarely used patient beds near the back of the infirmary, and had Scout sit down on the edge of one. He pulled up a stool for Scout to rest his leg on, and a chair for himself.

Scout, with some difficulty, pulled his sock off and rested his leg on the stool, tears pricking at his eyes.

"My God, how did you do this?" Medic asked, as he looked at Scout's severely injured foot.

"Kicked a rock," Scout managed to get out.

"It is impossible that kicking a rock would do this."

"Kicked it lots real hard."

"How many times?"

"10 minutes."

Medic furrowed his brows at the response. "You kicked a rock very hard for 10 minutes?" he asked, to clarify.

Scout simply nodded.

Medic tilted his head as he examined Scout's injured foot. "Well…" he started. "You could either go through respawn and stay in the locked respawn room until tomorrow, or let me fix it up enough until tomorrow. Or I could cut it off."

Scout wasn't sure if Medic was being humorous or if he really wanted to amputate his foot. "Can't you just use the Medi-gun on it?" he asked, voice strained from the pain.

Medic sighed. "I left it locked up in the respawn room because I was not doing any experiments today," he replied.

"You don't have your old one lying around?"

"No. I let Engineer take apart the Quick-Fix to see if he could make some improvements."

Scout groaned. "Just fix it until tomorrow then."

Medic nodded and went off to gather what he needed.

Scout felt… embarrassed. When was Medic going to bring up his temper tantrum earlier? Medic probably thought he was a complete idiot, having a tantrum and then going off and breaking the shit out of his foot in anger.

He was just contemplating whether or not he should just slink off and pass out in a hallway somewhere, when Medic returned. He had one of the large Med-kits used on the field tucked under his arm. He sat down, plunked the Med-kit onto the table, and began to pull out what he needed.

Scout groaned inwardly as he realized he was probably going to get jabbed with a needle. The most useful thing in those Med-kits were the syringes containing some of the fluid the Medi-gun used to heal. It didn't make miracles happen like the Medi-Gun did, exactly. He couldn't remember much from the presentation, but he did remember that having the stuff injected just wasn't as effective as the fumes from the Medi-Gun. It didn't matter, as long as it kept him up and running.

At least he wasn't going to have to eat the stuff. Those little Med-kit bottles tasted disgusting.

Apparently, this particular Med-kit hadn't been quite assembled yet. There was a good amount of silence while Medic prepared the syringe for use. Scout instinctively stuck out his arm when Medic finished preparing the syringe.

He was a bit surprised when Medic took the time to swab the area clean with an alcohol wipe.

"Looking away can help," Medic said, as he prepared to inject the syringe's contents.

Scout shook his head. "I gotta watch."

Medic shrugged. Scout didn't flinch at all at the pain of the needle. In fact, he barely felt it.

"This may be an interesting side effect of the Medi-Gun," Medic commented. "I have had both Soldier and Engineer in here for hurting themselves severely because they could not tell they were hurting themselves in the first place. Perhaps exposure to the Medi-Gun and the battlefield conditions we find ourselves in have caused a pain response delay."

Scout forced himself to sit still as the syringe's contents did their work. The feeling of bones returning to their original positions and skin knitting itself back together had never felt quite right to him. The Medi-Gun didn't really hurt and seemed to get rid of any pain while under its effects, but the Med-kits were another thing all together. Of course, on the field, he found himself coming into contact enough with the Medi-Gun's healing fumes to keep any pain at bay, but this was another situation entirely.

"I thought that crap was supposed to fix my foot? It still hurts!" Scout asked, face pinched into a frown. In fact, it felt like it was starting to, somehow, hurt worse.

Medic taped a cotton ball over the area, and then was once more digging through the large Med-kit. "It is because the bones in your foot are rearranging themselves into the proper form," he replied, before finally pulling out another syringe and bottle from the kit. He then pulled out some cloth. He began to dust off whatever loose particles there were of sand still stuck on Scout's foot.

Scout winced. "You gotta do that so rough?"

Medic raised an eyebrow, but tried to be a little less rough. He placed the cloth onto the table when he was finished, and then began to prepare the second syringe.

"What's in that one?" Scout asked.

"Since you are not under the influence of the Medi-Gun's anesthetic properties, your foot is going to hurt quite bad from the healing process," Medic replied. "This is a pain-killer." He once again cleaned the area. "You should lie down."

"Why?" Scout asked, but began to lay down and situate himself nonetheless.

"This anesthetic is quite strong. You will go to sleep quickly. Apparently, our suppliers did not think we would need anything weaker due to our occupation."

Scout felt a little uneasy, what with Medic leaning over him holding a pretty sizable syringe and needle. He really hoped he'd wake up the next day with his foot still attached to his body. "Shouldn't you do an IV or something?"

Medic shrugged, looking a bit comical with the syringe in his hand. "If anything goes wrong, respawn will pick you up."

Wasn't that irresponsible?

Scout then passed out.


End file.
